


it's yours

by king_wizard



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Bottom Jensen, Coming Untouched, Dubious Consent due to age difference and authority, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/F, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessive!Jared, Rimming, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Unhealthy Views of Relationships, hole spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_wizard/pseuds/king_wizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all that damn ruler's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's yours

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the letskinkjensen prompt: Detention on valentines day sucks. Jensen (16-17) wants to be at home getting ready for the dance instead he's stuck in detention with the insanely hot but rather angry Mr Collins/Padalecki. And the way that the teacher's slapping the wooden ruler across the palm of his hand and staring at Jensen is starting to make him feel more than a little hot and bothered.
> 
> Title from Drake's "Wu-Tang Forever."

Small town living is country music in every store, on every station; running into at least five people that need to talk to you at the grocery or hardware store; Friday nights parked on either side of the four lane highway, pockets of teenagers sitting on the backs of trucks and the hoods of cars, waving at their neighbors and the cops they've known since they were toddlers. 

The Ackles have spent six generations growing and living and dying in Lost City, the little rundown slip of paradise that Jensen never wants to leave. He's in love with the brick buildings downtown, the bright horizon of stars that remain unclouded by city lights or smog, the strong hearts that beat in time with harvest and rain and summer. 

 Jensen is a little less in love with Lost City High, where the majority of teachers remember the trouble his daddy caused in their classes and the uncontrollable wit of his mother. Most days he can fly under the radar with B's and C's and bright smiles. 

Some days, he can't 

He takes full responsibility for the stupidity that landed him in detention on Valentine's Day.

It was stupid to let his best friend since pre-school, Genevieve Cortese, talk him into pretending they're dating, but he had wanted to give her the cover of a boyfriend to make it easier to sneak with her first girlfriend. Stupid to send her a rose from the student council fundraiser, disrupting human brick wall Mr. Padalecki's home room. Stupid to pass her a note asking her to the Valentine's Dance in the middle Padalecki's English class.

Mr. Padalecki has five years and miles, miles on him. He's an intern from Lawton University, hot enough that everyone and thheir mother wants him, young enough that he understands what his students are saying, the jokes they make, and he's pleasant enough to laugh along with his pupils.

Unless that pupil is Jensen, anyway.

Even the other teachers aren't as hot and cold towards him. Mr. Padalecki alternates between watching him with narrowed eyes, calling out any mistake he makes and ignoring him completely.

 Today, Mr. Padalecki had been running cold. At least until Jensen had lent over Genevieve's desk, trying not to giggle like a preschool girl at the less than flattering doodle of old Mr. Fisher. She'd told him to ignore Mr. Padalecki orders to go back to his seat, so he had. Again and again until Mr. Padalecki was wrapping a huge hand around his bicep and glowering and growling a Valentine's detention in his face.

Principal Morgan, who always smiles at Jensen in the hall and is generally liked and lusted over, agreed to allow Mr. Padalecki to hold Jensen until 6:00 PM. An hour and a half past general detention time.

That little agreement reminded Jensen there are disadvantages to small town living. Laws and rules and society don't quite touch here. Usually Jensen basks in the feeling of being apart, of being separate from a world he doesn't quite understand. Today, though, that feeling has Jensen squirming in his seat.

The heat of Mr. Padalecki's glare may also have something to with the way Jensen can't seem to be still, can't seem to be quiet or calm. The steady slap, slap, slap of the ruler Mr. Padalecki is rapping against his palm certainly doesn't ease Jensen's restlessness. It draws Jensen from the reality of the classroom, into the darkness of his room, under his covers, watching gay porn with his laptop turned low but loud enough for him to hear the smack of hands against flesh.

He shifts at the next thawp, startled from fuzzy memories of fuzzy flesh, of moans and whimpering cries and heat spanked into a willing ass. Flushed from his cheeks to his cock, he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, willing the warmth in his belly to cool. 

Another slap of the ruler has him grinding his jaw, pushing his ass into the cold seat. He's thanked the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost every morning since he turned 14 that he's never popped wood in class. Detention alone with Mr. Padalecki, movie star of his wet dreams for the past months, cannot be the first time his dick jumps out of line. It's too humiliating, too damning, too much.

Jensen jumps at the next crack. Jumps far enough that his ass leaves the hardness of the chair; enough that Mr. Padalecki says, "In your seat, Jensen. Staying out of it is what landed you here in the first place."

A bright flash of anger bursts along the boiling lust in Jensen's blood. Mr. Padalecki's disapproval of Jensen is what brought him to detention, what's keeping him here longer than allowed. 

Mr. Padalecki snaps the ruler again. Jensen's cock jumps at the sound. He clenches his ass, his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut. If he could just block out that cracking sound -

"You okay, Jensen?" Mr. Padalecki asks, anger coloring his voice more than concern. He snaps the ruler again. 

"Can you - " Jensen begins to bite, but sucks his lower lip into his mouth to halt his words. It wouldn't do to ask Mr. Padalecki to stop cracking that ruler, please, because by now he's so hard in his jeans his chest hurts. He releases a slow breath, lip sliding from under his teeth. 

When he looks to Mr. Padalecki again, the man's gaze is focused on his mouth. Utterly focused. Mr. Padalecki's tilted eyes are narrowed and black. The ruler is still against his palm. 

Jensen shifts again, ass clenching at the ache that's spread from his blood plump dick to his now tight nipples to his now tingling mouth.

He feels miserably empty, the way he does when his daddy or mama knocks on his door to pull him to dinner or church or a bar-b-que when all he wants is to shove as many fingers inside himself as he can, stuff himself full and let the fullness linger.

The thought of the pleasure, of the relief he finds alone, has him flushing so hot it's difficult to breathe. Swallowing hard, he tugs the collar of his sweater, too warm, too constricting. 

"You're looking flushed," Mr. Padalecki says, sounding as heated as Jensen feels. 

Clearing his throat, Jensen says, "Uh, actually. I'm not really feelin' so well." He raises the back of his hand to his forehead, surprised at the real fire he feels under his skin. "Yep, that's definitely a fever. Which makes me contagious. I really wouldn't want you to get sick, Mr. Padalecki, so I'll just..."

Jensen isn't sure what he's saying; he doubts Mr. Padalecki is going to let him leave, and even if he did, the bulge in Jensen's jeans is obvious. Obscene.

Mr. Padalecki shakes his head. "Just what, Jensen? Just cut your detention short? Just let you run off to the dance, get young Mrs. Cortese sick - "

"I'm not - " Jensen clenches his jaw. "I don't know what your problem is with me, okay, but I don't think you understand exactly what a date to the Valentine's dance with Genevieve Cortese means.

Mr. Padalecki raises his eyebrow. "I was 17 once, Jensen. Not too long ago. I might know a little about what it means to take a cheerleader to the Valentine's dance." His voice is clipped, and the ruler is clenched in his hand now, his knuckles white around it. Jensen can see so much power in the grip. Shivers through his heated skin.

"What if I... What if we made a deal? I'll serve two detentions next week. Three. You'll see me after class everyday. Just... C'mon, man. You said it yourself. You were 18 once," Jensen says, voice dry and strained by the heat in his groin.

Grip tightening on the ruler, sending another rush of blood to Jensen's cock, Mr. Padalecki licks his lips. "My problem with you, Jensen, is your lack of respect." It's said both softly and with an undercurrent of heat. "I'm a student teacher in a small town. You don't realize your influence, but you don't listen, when you treat me the way I'm sure you wouldn't with any of your other teachers, it undermines my authority with the entire class. Your attitude - " 

"What attitude?" Jensen asks sincerely. "I know - okay, I know I shouldn't have disrupted class earlier, but I couldn't - "

"I told you to take your seat, and you ignored me in front of the rest of the class," Mr. Padalecki snaps.

"Genevieve told me to!"

Immediately, Jensen wants to slap a hand over his mouth. Mr. Padalecki narrows his eyes, fist clenching around the ruler. 

"And you just do what she tells you to?" 

Jensen shrugs, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. "I... She's really bossy."

Mr. Padalecki snorts. He releases his grip on the ruler, patting it against his palm in quick motions that leave Jensen cross-eyed. "Do you let everyone boss you around, Jensen?

No, Jensen thinks, but it sounds weak in his own head despite its truth. He doesn't let everyone boss him around. Only people he sees strength in, more strength than he can find in himself.

"No," Jensen mumbles, unable to meet Mr. Padalecki's fox lilted gaze. "Please, Mr. Padalecki, can't you just... This is important. To Genevieve. Which makes it important to me." 

And it is. This is Genevieve's first Valentine's Day with an actual girlfriend, the girl she's been pining over since Danneel took their school softball team to the state championship in 10th grade. Genevieve wants to make it special, and Jensen wants to be a part of it.

He wants to dance behind Genevieve while Chad Murray dances behind Danneel, give them an excuse to sandwich themselves together. He wants to ignore Genevieve, give her the chance to pout, give Danneel an excuse to spend the night comforting her friend. He wants to slip out early on the premise of going home with Genevieve and instead help her set up the candles and rose petals and picnic she packed for Danneel at the old park.

He wants to walk home after knowing he's given his best friend in the world everything she wants most.

He can't explain any of this to Mr. Padalecki, of course. He's sworn to protect Genevieve's secret just as she's sworn to protect his.

Mr. Padalecki brings the ruler against his pal in a sudden snap and crackle that has Jensen popping in his seat again. 

"What if I just take a whoopin'?" Jensen asks quickly, desperate to be out of this classroom and away from that glorious snap, to answer all the promises he made to Genevieve. 

The question stills Mr. Padalecki's hand. Jensen takes a deep, shuddering breath, only realizing what he's asked for when the ruler sinks into Mr. Padalecki's palm. Heat floods his face, remains a pulsing presence in his cock.

He bites his lip, wincing as the words echo in his head. He hasn't taken the paddle since he was 15 and realized exactly what the heavy spread of sting through his backside did to his chest, his dick. 

Mr. Padalecki raps the ruler again, and Jensen shifts, trying not to moan or whimper or cry at the twitch of his cock, the needy dullness in his ass. 

Eyes narrowed, Mr. Padalecki says, "I looked in your file. Your mama didn't sign you up for that."

"My mama worries," Jensen replies, licking his lips, mentally slapping himself for digging his grave that much deeper. "But I think she wants me at this dance more than Gen. She's obsessed with documenting every second of my senior year. She doesn't wanna miss out on any pictures." 

Mr. Padalecki regards him for several long, too quiet moments. His gaze is appraising, and Jensen finds himself trying to still his restless shifts, finds himself hoping those hazel eyes see worthiness in him. 

"Do you think you could handle it, Jensen?" Mr. Padalecki asks lowly, leaning forward. 

It's a question that sounds more like a challenge, pitched dark and sliding warm water wet against Jensen's body. The words rub at his empty, aching spaces. He can do little more than breathe open mouthed and wide eyed. 

Mr. Padalecki drinks in his expression, intent as if Jensen is a still pool and he is a dying man. Jensen can't fathom the depth of the look, but he can heat under it, can remain embarrassingly hard and wanting.

Hear beating fast, dick pulsing, Jensen breathes, "I can take it. Whatever you - I can take it. If it means I can cut out and get Gen to the dance, then I'll take it."

His words are shaking in his thrill and anticipation, in his own stupidity and unsureness of what the actual fuck he thinks he's doing.

Mr. Padalecki's gaze is a narrow slit of heat. He seems to consider the decision, and as the seconds tick, Jensen finds himself hoping more and more that Mr. Padalecki will ignore his outburst. As much as he doesn't want to disappoint Gen, as much as he wants to give her and Danneel the perfect night they deserve, he doesn't want to stand now, his his dick hard and leaking against his boxers, or offer his ass up to Mr. Padalecki's terrible, mountainous hands. 

Jensen remembers the third paddling he'd ever received, the last. How it had hurt and how he'd had tears in his eyes and a throbbing need in his cock. He's two years older now but in this moment feels as if he has much less control. He's more aware of his body now, of the things it craves.

"Alright," Mr. Padalecki says sharply. He takes a breath as shaky as Jensen feels, repeating the agreement even more harshly. "Fine."

"I - really?" Jensen croaks. 

Mr. Padalecki tilts his head. "If it'll get you out of my classroom. If you can take it."

Jensen swallows. He can take it - the sting, the pain, the humiliation, the red eyes and red skin. But he can't handle it, should have never lied that he could. 

An inescapable feeling builds inside of him, though. There is a force weighing his tongue, whether it is pride or embarrassment or something else entirely, something idiotic and hot, stilling him from taking back his words

"Yeah," Jensen rasps. 

The response seems to inflame Mr. Padalecki's irritation. He brings the ruler on his desk with swift force. Jensen can feel the crack of it on his spine. 

"Alright, then, Jensen," Mr. Padalecki says with a tight smile. His fingers, long and thick and every desire Jensen's had since he was in middle school, work under his sleeves, rolling them to his elbows. The reveal of corded forearms bring a whimper to Jensen's throat, and he bites his lip to hide it. 

Mr. Padalecki rises from his chair once he has sleeves up, swiping the ruler as he stands. He turns his back to Jensen, facing his desk, rolling his shoulders. Jensen can see the shifting of powerful muscles under Mr. Padalecki's white button down.

"Jensen," Mr. Padalecki says impatiently, and Jensen rises shakily to his feet.

He's grateful not to have Mr. Padalecki's predator gaze trailed on him as he moves to the desk. If he can manage not to come in his pants like a kid, maybe he can hide his humiliating arousal altogether.

He thinks of adjusting himself in his jeans, but he's afraid one brush of pressure against his cock would have him spurting over his own fingers. Instead he moves as briskly as he can, angles himself away from Mr. Padalecki when he reaches his teacher's side until he can press his thighs against the desk.

Unsure of his next move, he hesitates. "Do you, uh - "

"Bend - " Mr. Padalecki says. There is a bite to it, one that settles low in Jensen's belly. Jensen casts a side glance to his teacher, watching as he takes a deep breath, as his jaw jumps and clenches. "Over the desk," he finally instructs. 

Jensen nods, breath caught hammering in his throat. He eases himself over the desk, blunt edge biting softly into his belly, but the brief discomfort is nothing to the needy pain in his cock. 

"Drop your jeans."

Mr. Padalecki's voice, sun hot gravel and deep, startles Jensen. He releases a slow breath before reaching one shaking hand to the snap button of his jeans. His fingers fumble.

With a noise of frustration, Mr. Padalecki grits, "Today, Jensen."

Jensen clenches his teeth and stills his focus. He manages to unbutton and unzip, pull his jeans past the curve of his ass. He hisses slightly when the denim slides over the hard line of his cock. The loss of the tight confine of his jeans is both welcoming and discomforting.

Mr. Padalecki breathes deeply as Jensen shimmies the denim down further, the waistband settling a few inches past his navy boxer briefs. The warm air of the classroom hits the skin of his thighs, and he shifts on his feet, realizing with shamed heat only a moment later that he's effectively shaken his ass in front of Mr. Padalecki and that god damn ruler. 

Jensen rests his warm cheek on the desk, turning to face away from Mr. Padalecki.  

"Alright," Mr. Padalecki rasps. His voice is darker, deeper, scratchier, as if he's swallowed cotton. 

Jensen gasps as the end of the ruler is brushed against his lower back. It runs along the waistband of his underwear, then further, over the swell of his ass. He bites his lip but can't bite back the pitiful little noise he makes. 

"Are you ready, Jensen?" Mr. Padalecki asks softly, but there is no softness in the words, no real warmth. Jensen doesn't trust himself to answer without whimpering or moaning or begging, so he nods. "Speak up, Jensen. Are. You. Ready.

"Yes," Jensen grits, eyes prickling with heat.

A breath after gasping the word, Mr. Padalecki brings the ruler across Jensen's ass. It is sharp and quick, harsh, spreading a pain that is stinging and immediate. Jensen cries out in shock, can't quiet himself, can't catch his breath in time not to cry out again when Mr. Padalecki cracks the ruler once more.

Mr. Padalecki sets a rhythm of precise, heavy blows. The punishing pace leaves Jensen with no time to regain his composure, to grit his teeth against the onslaught of hurt, breathy noises he makes, to breathe. It doesn't ease the ache in Jensen's cock at all, only intensifies each twitch and hungry throb.

It's harsher than any of the paddling's Jensen received, from the school or from his daddy's hands. Maybe because the ruler is smaller, crueler and more clever as Mr. Padalecki snaps it over his ass over and over and over again. Maybe because of Mr. Padalecki himself: his incredible strength, his deep frustration, his corded power. 

Jensen tenses as the blows continue, hunching his shoulders and tilting his hips towards the desk as if he can shrink away from Mr. Padalecki's retribution.

It's only a bodily response, though, a natural instinct to flee from pain. His mind, his dumb heart, his dumb soul, don't want to run from the stings Mr. Padalecki paints into his skin. His desire wants to bend to it, arch his back and push into the next punishing hit.

Each snap of the ruler digs the pain deeper, coaxes tears to well in his eyes, draws drips of pre-come from his aching dick until he's sure the front of his boxers are damp and dark. Each crackle of dizzying hurt highlights the dullness aching in the rest of his body, the emptiness of every patch of skin and muscle that remain stagnate while the pain in his ass makes his cock and heart and brain sing alive.

"Stay still," Mr. Padalecki growls. 

Jensen woulf explain that he wants to. He doesn't want to jerk from Mr. Padalecki's movements, doesn't want his writhing to throw off Mr. Padalecki's rhythm or strength. Mr. Padalecki is landing every blow in quick succession, spreading heat and pain from the top swell of his ass to the deep curve of it, not hitting his thighs but close enough to them that his muscles flex and jump with each hit. 

He can't speak, though. The tears burning his vision are clogging his throat as well. He can only gasp around the pain, the heavy throb in his dick.

The next slap of the ruler is somehow harsher, hurts even more sharply against his already stinging skin. Wetness falls down his cheeks and he can't stop the sob that leaves him, can't stop the way his hips jerk, humping against air for a release he can't allow himself.

Mr. Padalecki makes an impatient noise. He pauses his onslaught, breathing heavily. Jensen whimpers, not in the sea of pain but at the loss of it, squirming with want and tears. 

Another frustrated huff falls from Mr. Padalecki. "Thought you said you could take it, Jensen?" he says, words sounding as if they're being pulled from teeth. 

Jensen blinks through his tears. "I - I can," he half-sobs, wishing he could at least pretend to be more composed. His voice is shaky and wet, betrays how easily he's falling apart under Mr. Padalecki's hands. 

"Then stay still," Mr. Padalecki bites, sounding half as wrecked as Jensen, which makes no sense but has Jensen tilting his ass towards the teacher. "You can't - " Mr. Padalecki breathes. He makes an angry, desperate sound in his throat. 

Suddenly Mr. Padalecki's hand, broad and burning, is settling in the middle of Jensen's back. Jensen startles again, gasping as Mr. Padalecki leans against him, presses him with unmovable force into the desk. Mr. Padalecki moves behind Jensen, not touching him, but hovering close enough that his body heat washes over Jensen's back, ass, the few bared inches of his thighs. Jensen desperately wants to push into the heat, but he doesn't - he can't move. 

The immobility just rushes blood that much hotter, that much more intense, makes his cock drip even more copiously inside his boxer briefs.

"Do you stay still for Mrs. Cortese?" Mr. Padalecki grits. Jensen's too hazy to answer, to understand the question. "You can be good for her, but not for me, Jensen?"

Before Jensen can even process the words, Mr. Padalecki resumes the spanking. But it's no unforgiving, unyielding wood falling against Jensen's ass. It's Mr. Padalecki's other hand. 

Jensen sobs in earnest, in humiliatingly desperate desire. Mr. Padalecki's hand is better and worse than ruler. It's warmer, lays fire into the flames already dancing deep in Jensen's muscles. The pain isn't as precise or biting, broader and more stinging. Mr. Padalecki's palm on his ass digs trenches of pleasure, plants forests and mountains of it, and Jensen is lost immediately.

"Stay still for me, Jensen."

A sob shakes Jensen's body. He can feel the familiar spine melting tingle of his orgasm, building greater and greater in the base of his dick. Mortified, terrified, Jensen tries to rise against the strength of Mr. Padalecki's hand. It's a futile attempt, frustrating as it is fucking hot, and Jensen collapses further into the desk. 

"Please," he breathes through a hiccuping cry. "MMr. Pada - Mr. - Mr. Padalecki - "

He's begging for mercy. For a reprieve long enough at least to pull himself from the precipice of his orgasm. But Mr. Padalecki has no mercy and no idea that Jensen is one more harsh slap away from spilling hot and untouched in his boxers. 

With a growl, Mr. Padalecki digs his fingers under the waistband of Jensen's underwear. Jensen has a moment to gasp, to squirm, to whisper please again before Mr. Padalecki is harshly yanking his boxers to the point of his jeans. 

The air on Jensen's raw ass is almost too much, almost enough to have him shooting come on Mr. Padalecki's desk. 

"Jesus," Mr. Padalecki breathes. His palm falls on Jensen's bare ass, a flutter where his other blows have been fires. Instead of raising his hand again, painting the print of his fingers in Jensen's flesh, he palms the flushed skin, feels the heat in every inch of Jensen's throbbing ass. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Jensen can't comprehend the sudden change in Mr. Padalecki's voice, words, movements. He can only slump rag doll tired, legs sliding apart on the linoleum floor, exposing himself full and vulnerable. Pressing his cheek further into the desk, he draws a shuddering breath. Warm air falls as his legs move wider, spreading his ass, his hole.  

He groans, shameless, helpless, and under the current of it he thinks he can hear Mr. Padalecki make a similarly hopeless sound. 

The next blow Mr. Padalecki lands startles a wild, heaving sound from Jensen's throat. The hand holding him to the desk is moving, settling on one stinging cheek, spreading Jensen's ass, his hole, even further. 

When two of Mr. Padalecki's fingers come down directly over his hole, slapping sharp heat into it, Jensen literally does stop breathing. 

Mr. Padalecki brings his fingers down again, harsh and biting. Jensen sobs, and at the next blow, he moans. "God," he cries, the groan coming from deep in his chest, his heart. Free of Mr. Padalecki's hold, his entire body thrusts backwards, upwards, aching eager for the next hit.  

"Look at you.Jensen. Fuckin' look at you." 

Jensen has a few moments of torturous nothingness as Mr. Padalecki shifts. One beautiful hand leaves him, makes him whine, chase the sensation. Mr. Padalecki makes it up to him a moment later by bringing the flat side of the ruler directly over his hole. 

"Ah, fuck," Jensen sobs deeply. The pain and the pleasure are bone deep know, forever cemented under his skin. He'll tingle with the sting of Mr. Padalecki's hands for years.

Mr. Padalecki slaps the thin edge of the ruler against his hole next. He's spanked that way once, twice, three times. He loses count after that, unable to think, unable to do anything but feel and cry and want. 

Jensen can't stop the tears or the way his hips pump. He tries to find his voice, gather enough coherency to warn Mr. Padalecki of his impending orgasm. All he manages is a weak, "Mr. - Mr. Padalecki, I - "

"Jared," Mr. Padalecki pants. "Call me - fuck. Say it. Fuckin' say it." 

Jensen cries out, "Jared," and comes. Comes so hard it dims his vision, bleeds every last bit of strength from his body, leaves him shaking violently and deeply. He shoots messily over the side of the desk, come falling in trails that drip to the floor. 

He collapses fully against the desk. His cock doesn't even twitch through the last blurts of calm, just hangs heavy and spent between his trembling legs. 

Mr. Padalecki - Jared - lets loose an almost wild groan. The sound of him wrestling out of his trousers fills the room. Panting, Jensen tries to crane his neck, catch a glimpse of Jared's cock, but he can barely lift his head from the desk. He slumps down

He moans softly at the brush of Jared's cockhead, flame hot and slick with pre-come, against his raw, stinging skin. Jared rubs the length of his cock along Jensen's ass, drizzling desire in sticky trails over his skin, then slides his dick into the crease. Jensen shudders around it. He can feel the thickness, the width of Jared's heavy cock, the long heat of it. Groaning, Jensen lifts his hips as much as he can, rubbing along Jared's length.  

Jared moans, shudders. He slides so it's just the wet mushroom head nudging against Jensen's hot, stinging hole. Jensen hasn't ever wanted anything as much as he wants Jared to pop that flushed flesh past the rim of his asshole, just give him a few glorious inches, just let him know the feeling of being split open by Jared's big dick. 

Jared doesn't push, though; he only rubs wetly against Jensen's hole before settling his hands on Jensen's hips. 

"C'mon," Jared says, low and urgent. "On your back, Jensen. Let me see you. C'mon. Be good for me, Jensen."

Jensen doesn't think he can. He wants to, but his limbs are leaden. Between Jared's strength and Jensen's desire, Jensen somehow manages to stand long enough to be turned around and guided back onto the desk. His ass is half-hanging over the edge, along with his legs. He anchors his feet to the floor, tries to keep himself from sliding off.

Jared steps between Jensen's legs, bending to grip Jensen's thighs, bring them around his waist. "Good," he rasps, moving closer. "Such a good boy for me." Jensen groans at the words, at the way Jared curves his spine and leans further into him. The movement brings Jared flush against him, hard cock brushing Jensen's soft dick, his dark patch of pubic hair, the jumping muscles of his abdomen.

Jensen's eyes fall shut in pleasure-pain. The stinging skin of his ass is growing hotter, throbbing faster and with deeper aches now that the constant distractions have faded. Jared pulls him from the pain when he brushes his mouth unexpectedly over Jensen's.

Gaze snapping open, Jensen blinks into Jared's face. He sees pink in Jared's cheeks, blackness consuming Jared's eyes. His mouth falls open, yielding to whatever Jared wants to take. 

Jared gives another deep growl before descending deeper. He kisses as if Jensen's full lips and pink tongue are things to be conquered, owned.

As he kisses Jensen, he presses his cock more firmly into Jensen's body. They both moan, Jared's far deeper, wilder. He ruts into Jensen as if he's the teenager, helplessly horny and desperate to come. He breaks like a teenager, too, coming quickly and with a shout. Strings of come spill over Jensen, slicking his belly. 

Jared breaks from Jensen, panting, and immediately attacks skin. He licks the tears on Jensen's cheeks. Jensen hiccups softly, still trying to catch his breath as Jared laps the salt from his heat.

Jared moves to nip and kiss Jensen's jaw, his neck, rucks Jensen's shirt up then runs the tip of his tongue and edge of his teeth over Jensen's nipples. Jensen is half hard again by the time Jared begins licking long stripes on Jensen's stomach, lapping his own come from Jensen's skin. 

Jensen raises his head to watch. He groans at the sight, which is so much heat and decadence that his head falls back to the desk with a thump.

"Let me," Jared whispers, peering at Jensen from the fringe of his bangs. Jensen doesn't know what he's asking, but he nods. "Scoot up." It's mostly Jared's strength that pushes Jensen further on the desk. When he's positioned where Jared wants him, Jared says, "Good. Put your hands under your knees, spread your legs, hold 'em up to your chest."

Flushing, biting his lip, Jensen does as he's told. The position leaves him vulnerable again, exposing his red, raw ass to Jared's gaze. 

Jared sinks to his knees. His breath fans hot over Jensen's skin, over the sting in his cheeks and his hole. Jensen winces slightly when Jared moves forward, unsure of what's going to happen. He sighs in relief when Jared gently, gently, gently, brushes his lips over the throbbing flesh. 

Jared peppers soft kisses over Jensen's ass, then, once Jensen is sighing and gasping and pliant, he licks a cooling lap over the skin. Jensen groans at the downright Heavenly sensation of Jared's velvet tongue lapping sweet and firm, licking the pain right out of him. 

When the tip of Jared's tongue flutters over his rim, he groans, startled. The next swipe has him groaning in relief. 

His cock starts plumping between his thighs as Jared continues to lick him, the hot skin of his ass, the swollen rose of his hole. He wants to wrap his fist around himself, jerk off while Jared tongues him into a frenzy, but when he slides one hand down his belly, Jared stops. 

"Hey," he says, breathless and wanton and not at all ready for Jared to stop. "Keep goin'." 

Jared pinches his thigh in a quick but sharp movement. Jensen cries out, shoots an accusing glare at the narrowed gaze between his legs. 

"Still trying to overrule my authority, Jensen," Jared breathes with a shake of his head.  

Jensen is going to respond, witty and charming, but before he can, Jared shifts forward and swallows Jensen's dick. Shocked, Jensen arches into Jared's mouth, crying out as wet warm pleasure envelopes him. 

Jared sucks him off within a matter of minutes. It would be embarrassing if Jensen had any thought in his brain other than how incredible Jared's lips and tongue make him feel.

He spills downs Jared's throat, watching with heavy lidded eyes as swallows. Jared sucks through his orgasm, pulling every last drop of pleasure and pain and come from Jensen's body, then eases away with a sigh. 

Jensen lays in a panting, dizzy mess while Jared stands and pulls his trousers back on. After snapping and zipping his own pants in place, Jared moves to the desk to help slide Jensen's jeans up his trembling form. 

Jared helps him dress, then helps him to his feet. Jensen sways  the first second he's upright, but Jared steadies him. Dazed, Jensen looks into Jared's own glazed eyes. 

"Mr.- Jared," Jensen sighs, searching Jared's face for any sign of how to proceed, how to feel now. 

Jared holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away. "You're free to go, Jensen." He pauses for a breath before asking, "Is someone coming to pick you up?"

The question startles Jensen, dizzies him at breakneck speed. "Um," he mutters, licking his lips. "Yeah. My mama was gonna come get me." 

Jared nods. "Do you need to call her?"

Unable to help a fond grin, Jensen says, "I don't have a cell phone. Daddy doesn't believe in 'em, and mama thinks it'll keep me from getting in trouble with any of the cheerleaders." He shakes his head. "I could... Could I borrow yours? 

"I don't have one," Jared answers. Jensen blinks, and Jared shrugs. "Don't believe in 'em." 

-

They listen to the local radio station on the way to Jensen's house, DJ Dean James reminding everyone to bring their gals flowers and their man a nice steak home for dinner in between country's greatest love songs.

Jensen can't still in his seat - his ass is still throbbing, though not nearly as badly. He can't keep his eyes on the road, either; they keep drifting to Jared. 

It's 20 minutes from Lost City High School to the Ackles' family residence. It feels like 20 hours pass by the time Jared rolls his Ford F-150 to their driveway 

"Well," Jensen says, awkward. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Pada - Jared." 

"Jensen."

Jensen's fingers pause around the door handle. 

"Jensen," Jared says again. Jensen looks to him, but he isn't looking back. He's staring out the window. "I'm - What happened. I'm sorry." 

"For what?" Jensen asks, honestly confused. 

Jared looks at him then. His eyes are unreadable, his mouth pressed in a tight line. "I shouldn't have let things go so far. I shouldn't have lost control, I just couldn't - I couldn't - " He clenches his jaw, cuts himself off. "I shouldn't have touched you at all, Jensen. I'm sorry.

Jensen stares at him. He tries to fathom the words, the expression on Jared's features. "You didn't do anything wrong. I - I asked for it. I wanted it.

Shaking his head, Jared responds, "That doesn't matter. I'm your teacher - " 

"Student teacher."

"That doesn't give me the right - didn't give me the right to take advantage."

Confusion spins to indignation. Jensen clenches his fists. "Well if you regret it so damn much, you shouldn't have done it in the first place."

"No," Jared agrees quietly. "I shouldn't have I'm not like you, Jensen." His knuckles are white around the steering wheel and he runs his thumbs along it, nervous in a way Jensen didn't think men as broad and beautiful as Jared could be. Sighing, Jared drops his head against the seat. "I know I've treated you...not the way a teacher should treat their students.

Jensen bites his lip, hesitant to ask the question but unwilling to let it remain unanswered. "Why? Is it... I mean, is it because you...like me?" He winces at the juvenile tone of his words. 

"It's because I'm not like you. You're good, Jensen. Like most of the people in this town. You're kind, and you have this big heart you wear on your sleeve, and you..." He trails off with a soft laugh. "You worry about taking girls to dances because it's important to them. And I'm... I'm not good. Not like you. I'm...petty, Jensen. And selfish, and possessive, and jealous - "

Jensen's eyes widen at the admission. "You were jealous? Of Genevieve? Is that - that's not why you gave me detention today, is it?" 

Jared looks away again. "I told you. I'm not good. And I wanted you the first time I saw you. Not just because you're beautiful. I just - I could see it. How beautiful your heart was, too. And I wanted it. And I was angry, with myself, with you. I was punishing you, for being things I can't be, for making me wish I was different. Things were different."  

He finally turns to Jensen, expression etched in stone, solemn and only a breath of broken, still the most gorgeous thing Jensen's ever seen in his tiny town.

"I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have kept you after class, shouldn't have been alone with you. I've seen the way you look at me. And I saw you. The way you reacted when I was messing with that ruler. The way you - squirmed in your seat like you wanted it - "

"I did," Jensen says. His heart is flashing strobe light quick in his chest and his breath is caught somewhere between his lungs and his lips and there is no part of him that can believe this is happening. Jared Padalecki is saying how much he wants him, saying things that Jensen couldn't imagine in the wildest pornos he conducts in his head. More softly, he repeats, "I did want it." 

"I shouldn't have given it to you," Jared says. He runs one hand through his hair, taps the fingers of his other on the steering wheel. "I've done things I've wished I hadn't before, Jensen. But I've never slept with a student. I've never touched anyone I'm so... I didn't realize how this would feel."

 

"You don't - I'm not some saint, or angel, or anything. I'm just like any other kid in this town."

 

"No, Jensen." Jared gazes at him, looks at him as if he's finding things in Jensen that Jensen never knew where there, could possibly be there. "You're really not."

 

Momentarily stunned, Jensen licks his lips. Jared turns his head. "Maybe not. But I'm not something to regret. What we did - we - wasn't something to regret. I mean, yeah, I'm your student, but you're a student too. And 16 is the age of consent, so it's not like I'm not legal. And I don't care if you're kind of a shitty person." 

 

Jensen grimaces as soon as he says it, but Jared laughs, big and loud and honest. His dimples dig into his cheeks, and his eyes seem to glow. Jensen thinks he should always look like that: carefree and joyful. 

 

"It's not what every pamphlet I've ever read in sex ed says is healthy, exactly, but I don't care that you held me after class 'cause you were keeping me from someone else. It's... It's hot. That you were jealous. That you're possessive. That you think of me as yours."

 

Jared inhales sharply. "Jensen - "

"I've always wanted one of those crazy passionate unhealthy relationships," Jensen continues. "I don't regret practically....basically telling you to spank me." His cheeks grow hot, but Jared meets his eyes again, gaze narrowed and black. Emboldened, embarrassed, beyond ecstatic, he says, "I don't regret that you did it. That you made me - I mean, Jesus Christ. I never thought something like that was gonna happen to me. I'm not traumatized or anything. You shouldn't be either."

 

Jared laughs again, softer and more deprecating this time.  

 

"Besides," Jensen adds. "We haven't technically slept together yet."

 

"We can't," Jared breathes with a shake of his head. 

"We can." Inspiration strikes Jensen, and he grins brightly. "Tonight. After the dance. Gen will cover for me, tell my mama I was with her if she asks. I can meet you at yours. You live in Eagle View Apartments, right?"

 

"No, Jensen. We can't. I won't - "

 

"You can't stop me from showing up," Jensen informs him earnestly. 

 

Jared blinks. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, Jensen, okay. For once in my life, I'm trying not to just take what I want."

 

"You already have. And it wasn't wrong. So you can stop trying so hard." Glancing around the neighborhood, Jensen shifts closer, drawing every ounce of his courage to slide his hand to Jared's knee. "I'll see you at 8:00."

 

"I told you - 8:00? Isn't the dance over at 7:00?"

 

"Yeah. But I have to help Genevieve." A pulse of adoration swells, the same familial fondness that tugs his lips upwards when his mama worries too much and his daddy whoops too loudly at the TV. "She's doing a...project. She'll drop me off after though."

 

"A project," Jared repeats. 

 

Flushing, downright giddy at the jump in Jared's jaw, Jensen rolls his eyes. "It's not like that. There's not any reason to be jealous. Seriously. We're in totally different leagues." 

 

When Jared opens his big mouth to argue again, spew more words that make Jensen hot inside, Jensen squeezes his knee. 

 

"I'll see you tonight," he says quickly, before Jared can respond. "8:00. 8:00-ish." 

 

He gives Jared's knee one last squeeze, smiles in what he hopes is reassurance and comfort, and slides out of the truck.

 

"Jensen." 

 

Jensen pauses with the truck door still open. He's going to reiterate that Jared's guilt is unnecessary, but the stuttered expression gives him pause.

 

"I'm - " Jared sighs, shakes his head. "Fuck. I'm - I'm in building 1220. Apartment C."

 

The grin that stretches Jensen's mouth is wide and deep enough to make his face hurt. An eager thrill over takes him, holds him so he can't speak or breathe. He nods quickly before the shutting door. 

 

He watches Jared peel out of the drive way, watches Jared give him a lingering glance that looks caught between regret and hunger. He continues watching until the bed of Jared's truck disappears.

 

With a bounce on his heels, he turns to run into the house. He has a Valentine's Day date to get ready for. 


End file.
